


You are my Haven

by bhoglin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Horror, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhoglin/pseuds/bhoglin
Summary: Uninspired Keith struggles to find his passion for photography and slowly dissolving sense of self. But with sudden events with the undead, finishing his school project is the last thing on his mind. Finding his childhood friend Pidge and his older brother Shiro, he has to navigate the horrors of the overrun campus with Lance, and soon the city of California with his new friends.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	You are my Haven

Focus. Unfocus. 

Focus. Unfocus. 

Tilt, reposition. 

Keith listened to the tiresome noises of his camera, the blur making his head want to spin. The longer he stared, the more he felt a small ache in his brain. 

It’s not good enough. It’s not right. Whether it’s the angle, colours, atmosphere, even the damned bee that kept flying in front of the lense. He couldn’t get a photo. 

He titled the camera, repositioned it again and again with little success. None of it was good enough. It hadn’t been for awhile. His photos for the past few weeks lost any sense of wonder to them. No spark or way to tell that he, the supposed artist was the one who took them. 

All the clicks from the shutter, all the readjustments couldn’t drag the lull in his gut every time he looked over the images. 

Bland. Boring. Grey, though the sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. The budding dandelions and lilacs brought no spark to him. No inspiration or pull to continue.

Now, when Keith looked through the lense of his expensive camera, it was almost as uninteresting as the world around him. Everyday passed was the same. Repeats of the other with only minor differences. 

Wake up, school, take bad photos, repeat.

He was frustrated he couldn’t see what he used to whenever he looked through the camera's eyes, the feeling in the pit of his stomach that gave him purpose.

He sighed with exasperation, will threatening to give up, and tilted his head back to face the sky. A small breeze kissed his cheeks as hair fell back from his forehead. Blue was all he could see. A beautiful blue. So beautiful he might think he could get that feeling he wanted to return, so he twisted his camera off the tripod and faced it to the sky. 

It fell short. It was somehow paler, and instead made his stomach feel slightly nauseated. It was fear that he might lose his only passion. 

“It’s been a whole hour,” Pidge said. He turned to her. She yawned from where she layed and removed her arms from behind her head. He watched her stretch and sit up in one dragged out motion. “Can we go now? I want to get back so I can get ready for tonight.” Keith rubbed his eyes and let out a long, tired breath. 

“It’s the fifth one this week. Is there any way you could miss it? I really need to get back into this, otherwise-“

“-otherwise you won’t be able to finish your final project and never get your degree, thus leaving you homeless and alone. Yes, I know- but I think you’re forgetting that this is the last party of spring break.” She pushed the rim of her glasses that tried to slip off her nose.

He let out another sigh to exaggerate his point. “Yes, meaning that my project is due on Monday!” Okay, he could admit those two things didn’t exactly correlate. But he couldn’t stress enough the importance of passing. If he couldn’t get a photo here and now, good enough to get an at least above average mark, he was done for. 

It was a hard school, and he was already warned once about late admission to a project, and handing in a half finished one. His teacher already gave him the okay to redo it over the break. Their reasoning was apparently seeing potential in him. Maybe they also saw the way his work started to deflate as the year went on. 

He felt like he was blowing it, trying to fix his homework.

Pidge stood and made her way to him, reaching for his camera. He smacked her hand away and pulled it to his chest. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Checking to see if your photos are actually bad. Knowing you, you’re being super dramatic and they’re prooobably amazing.” He grunted. 

He didn’t like to show people his work. They were a part of him. Like people could see the way he viewed the world just by looking in the small digital frame. They were all a window, through them a direct message into who he was. But… the ones he took in the past hour weren’t anything special. 

He tried to capture the flowers, bees, the frayed grass and maybe get a good shot of an insect or two. They were boring. Two dimensional. They didn’t tell a story, didn’t have any meaning or insight to who he was. He gave up, attached it to his tripod and faced it to a scenic view of the field. 

The idea seemed nice when you thought about it. A simple, maybe even cute, long shot of something beautiful. But the same feeling set into him like damp cement pushing down in his gut. 

He’d seen it before, and so had everybody else. So, maybe it was fine to show Pidge something that meant nothing. Plus it was Pidge. 

“Fine,” he mumbled before setting it on the tripod, steadying and turning it to her. She clicked it on and set it to the gallery. 

He watched her eyes widened, mouth mimicking as she scrolled through the photos. She didn’t speak until she neared the end.

“Keith, this- these are amazing!” she said. “Like, I don’t know how you do this. Whenever I take a photo they come out blurry.” 

“That’s because you don’t know how to use my camera.” He couldn’t help a small grin, the thought of her growing annoyed at a technology she wasn’t good at using. 

“Well, true, but seriously Keith. These are good enough. Better than a lot of the photos I even see on ads.” His cheeks warmed at that. She went through again, the images passing slightly faster. 

“Thanks, Pidge.”

It looked like she was about to reply, but stopped herself and squinted. Her nose crinkled before she inched to the screen with a weak grip on her round frames. Her head turned to almost face him, but eyes stayed glued to where she looked.

“Uh, Keith?” Her voice was so uncertain it made his stomach spike with anxiety. “I think… there’s a person in this?” 

“What?” He turned it to face him. A figure in the distance. In the middle of the frame, just at the edge of the trees. Their body was slanted at a slight angle, bent at the waist as if it were using an invisible cane, but couldn’t quite get the support they needed. 

He zoomed on the photo, the figure blurring as it grew closer. It was a person, that was for sure. They were too far to tell the gender or who it was, but it definitely had the figure of a human. He swore he didn’t see anyone the entire time they were there. 

As if they had the same thought, they looked up.   
His nerves did flips, the figure appearing half the distance closer than the photo. Pidge flinched back. 

They limped slowly toward them, head bobbing and arms moving limply from their sides. He couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not. Like they had no idea he and Pidge were there, like them moments ago. 

There’s obviously something not quite right about their demeanour. It looked like some sort of patch, maybe a dark, deep red rash, stretched from their forehead to the bottom of the neck. And with each step their breathing grew loud and deep. 

“What the fuck,” Pidge cursed as she backed away. “Keith, what should we do?”

He was as clueless as her. He was never great for situations with people, and if Pidge wasn’t sure he definitely wasn't the one to figure it out. So he tried to clear his throat.

“Um,” his first attempt at speaking came out as a raspy nothing. “Um, sir?” he said, sure it’s a man. His casual outfit had splotches of dark red, almost black. Keith swallowed. He was sure it was blood. 

He glanced at Pidge when the man didn’t respond, face blank and eyes looking at nothing. 

“Keith, there’s something wrong with him.” She started to back away again. “Keith?” She stopped when he didn’t respond. 

He couldn’t look away. The feeling in his stomach couldn’t process what to feel, and his brain couldn’t find the right string and cords to decipher what was going on. There was no book to tell him what to do when coming across a man who seemed to either be on a killing spree, or recently swallowed a shit ton of drugs. It kept him in a lull.

The man stopped. His eyes locked with Keith's. There’s hunger to them, like a wild animal latching onto it prey the first time it catches glimpse. 

“Pidge, grab your keys,” he said. She nodded slowly and continued to walk. The electric shock of fear travelled through him as she rummaged through her backpack, pulling out the long lanyard of keys and ornaments, clinking a thousand times louder than usual. The man's eyes went to her, wide and gluttonous. Keith’s grip on the camera tightened as he brought it to his chest. 

He couldn’t look away as he listened to her collect their things.

The man moved again. Faster, but slow, enough of a space for Keith to use the tripod to block the distance between them. Keith grunted from the force of the taller man.

The man opened his wide, drooling mouth and gnawed at him. Gnawed. Like a fucking dog trying to eat a spoonful of peanut butter. He did it aimlessly, teeth snapping loudly as they opened and shut with force. Then a blur- dark green smacking against the side of the man's head. He fell to the ground. 

Pidge breathed heavily, clutching onto her backpack with shaking arms. They couldn’t exchange words; the man was already stirring from the ground with a moan. As he stood Pidges mouth gaped. 

“H-how the-” he saw what she was frightened of. The man's head bled from the impact. He dropped to the grass, and a stain was in place of the deep green as he stood. “I didn’t swing that hard!”

The man turned to her. Keith knew he was going to charge at her, like she was the perfect target. When there was slight movement in his shoulders, pulling back before a leap, Keith grabbed her. The man lunged.

But they were already running, legs pushing hard and lungs already becoming pants. The clanking of her backpack and things inside were only a fraction louder than the man, letting out desperate cries. 

They shared a look when they knew they would outrun him. They both kept their fast pace. 

There’s something wrong with him, beyond anything they could think of. Drugs weren’t enough, surely. Maybe it was bath salts, but it seemed too easy.   
Maybe that explained it, but it didn’t explain his wounds and half concaved head.

Pidges rundown car in the short distance made him swear he saw angels flying above, and he’d never been more happy to see it. Their shoes hit the pavement before his hands were on the handle. He pulled on it frantically as it stopped short. 

“Pidge, unlock it!” he said, voice panicked. 

“I’m trying!” Her fingers pressed hard on the button. “Is right fucking now really the right time to act up?” She kept trying, the man closing in. She grunted with a mix of release and annoyance when the click of the button unlocked the vehicle. 

They wasted no time jumping in, slammed and locked the doors. Pidge turned the key in the ignition with too much force, and pushed hard onto the gas. They reversed, fast enough to launch Keith onto the dash, using his arms to not go through the windshield before he could secure his seatbelt. 

The man's hand barely hit the edge of the hood, and his running body slowly shrunk. Pidge looked out the back window. She changed the gear into drive, turned the wheel and spun forward toward the street. 

Keith watched the man disappear from the side mirror, heart pounding. It couldn’t stop after he got a good look at him up close. The mark on his face wasn’t a rash. But skin. Pulled, or cut to make an infected scab. The bash on his head dented far into his skull. 

“Pidge…” She looked at him shortly. “What’s in your bag?” 

Her cheeks deepened to a red. “Um, nothing.” 

“Sure,” he said before reaching for the backpack over his feet. 

“No, don’t-” He already moved the tripod to his side and brought up the bag, unzipping it. Aside from her laptop and a textbook, a large bottle of tequila sat at the bottom. 

“Really? What were you planning on doing with this?” She avoided his eyes. 

“I don’t know, maybe have a couple sips to knock me out while you go into your photo coma.” 

“Photo coma?” 

“Yeah, you get so intense and out of the real world, it’s like you’re in a coma.” That was one way to put it. He never realized it seemed that way on the outside. 

“I’d like to bring up the fact that you’re underage and the driver. Because, you know, we were just attacked by some crazy guy high on serious drugs. Maybe.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“I’m not sure if he was on drugs.” 

“What do you mean? What else would be the explanation?” He didn’t know why he was denying his own conclusion. 

She blinked a few times, her eyes glossing over. “He didn’t seem… alive.” 

Keith wanted to disagree. He wanted to laugh at her. Call her crazy for insinuating whatever the hell she even was insinuating. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because when he was using his tripod to hold the man back, he gripped onto Keith's wrist for a split second. He was as cold as ice. As cold as a dead body. 

Keith wished he didn’t force Pidge to drive out two hours to take photos. Not after what happened. He should have stayed in bed like he originally planned. But the stress took over, the world closing in on and overpowering his senses. 

He spent most of spring break walking around campus trying to find something “inspiring” and “interesting”. All he ran into were streakers and couples smacking lips in the courtyard. 

Normally on spring break one would assume the students would leave to either visit family or go on some party week on a tropical island. Unfortunately for Keith, the party week was at the college. He found out later it was a lot of the students' reason for attending. 

So on the nights he spent with sore eyes and booming headaches, he was accompanied with the loud music around the campus. 

He joined in on the fun a few times, but it always led him to wander with his camera in hand, desperate to find anything. Maybe drunk him would see something to inspire him again. And if drinking was the only way, he would become a drunk to get that feeling. 

It was the first time, in the long two weeks, that he didn’t feel the stress of his project. Instead, better or worse, it had been replaced with the adrenaline of being attacked and having to comfort Pidge as she tried to keep herself from crying the entire way back. The second they parked in the large parking lot, Pidge downed a shot. A large one. 

“I’m going to get so fucked up tonight,” she said, then nodded the tip of the bottle toward him. 

“Fuck it,” he accepted the drink, letting the contents burn down his throat in a swift motion. “Jesus, Pidge. That’s…” He gave her a sour face to get his point across. She chuckled deviously.

“Yup.” After she took another swig, Keith cringing for her, they collected their things and left the vehicle. The air was still warm, not yet affected by the evening. That was probably his favourite thing about California. 

He could excuse the pompous assholes that attended the school with him, and the constant sleepless nights from insane parties, as long as he could go on his night walks to clear his mind; the temperature a small comfort. It reminded him of his old home, vacant and lonely- but always warm. 

They were silent as they walked back, the background filled with the blurred pulse of intense bass. Within a few minutes they reached the dormitory. He inhaled deeply as they entered. 

The halls were filled with young people, wobbles in their steps as they mingled and laughed. A boy carried another on his back, all while heading straight toward them on roller blades. 

“Watch where you’re going, assholes!” Pidge flipped them the bird until the doors shut. 

“It’s barely nine, why is everyone hammered?” Keith asked. Pidge had to push past a couple, almost comedic with her short height. She also had surprising strength that still caught him off guard. 

“Last day, Keith. Gotta start early,” she said. 

He wrinkled his nose. The scent of booze overwhelmed his senses. He could barely see, the students decorating the halls with dangling lights and coloured strobes, the main lights shut off. The trip to his room was slow, the amount of students overwhelming. He struggled to unlock his door with the horrible flashing, and the two entered sighing. 

Keith retreated to his bed while Pidge went to the washroom. The music vibrated the walls, drunk girls singing outside the door. He would have to wear headphones to fall asleep.

He removed his head from his pillow when Pidge emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was clipped in places to show off her face more, with an entirely new outfit on. A green halter top with black high waisted shorts. 

“Dressed to impress?” Keith asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Shut up,” she said. “There may or may not be a cute girl that might catch my eye. Last day for confident Pidge, therefore last day for me to get a girlfriend.” 

“Dude, you’re always confident.” Now he was sitting up, and looking at her with encouraging eyes. 

Pidge grinned and rested her hand on her small waist. “Well, yeah- I’m a babe,” that made Keith let out a breathy laugh. “But, I think that I’m still in my high school mindset. You know, worrying about bullies and such.” Keith nodded. He knew fully well how the students at her old school treated anyone with a working brain cell. She told him about it whenever she was drinking. 

“Yeah, I get that.” 

She stood for a moment, like she was considering something. Then she walked to him and sat by his side. 

“Look what’s trending on Twitter.”

“Let me guess, something about that singer you like? Did she win another award?” She sighed like she was in love. 

“I wish,” she said. “Take a look.” She nudged him before handing it to him. 

‘Cannibal Reports in Breathtaking Amounts Across the Country.’

“What the hell.” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, taking her phone back to make her way back to the door. “And I don’t want to. I’m going to rock their bitch-ass socks off and forget any of it happened.”

“That seems unhealthy.” She rolled her eyes. He crawled to the head of his bed. “I’ll be here all night, so when you get too drunk to be on your own I’ll be in here. I’ll keep it unlocked. Oh, and I’ll make sure to keep checking my phone just in case.” She gave him a kind smile.

“Thanks, Keith. But don’t worry, I’m hanging out with a couple of my buddies, so I won’t be alone. I will come here to crash, though. Don’t feel like traveling across campus to my room.” She opened the door, the music seeping in the room once more. “Oh, and by the way.” She turned to him to give a smirk. One that said I know your secret. “Don’t worry about me telling everybody that you’re a sweetheart, okay? Wouldn’t want to tarnish your bad boy image.” 

“Bad boy image?” he questioned with knit eyebrows. 

“Yeah, Keith. Your bad boy image.” The door was bumped, pushing her back a moment. She pushed back, receiving a “Hey!”. “You tend to give that vibe. Anyway, have a good night my overprotective flower.” She shut the door before he could respond. His cheeks warmed at the word flower. He would have to get her back for that. 

Keith went through the photos in his camera once more. He zoomed on the man, studying his silhouette for a good ten minutes. When his nerves couldn’t handle it, and his eyes began to droop, he pulled on his headphones. 

He didn’t realize he passed out so quickly. Not until he was woken by the crash opening of his door, and the bright flicker of his lights. He sat up and removed his headphones. He had to blink a few times before his eyes unblurred. 

A boy with short brown hair slowly shut the door. He was tall, though the tired slump in his back brought him down an inch. When he turned he flinched, hitting the door with his back, unaware of Keiths presence beforehand. 

He was, to say the least, extremely handsome. His tan skin popped his blue eyes, subtle yet defined cheekbones with an overall slim face. 

Keith's cheeks no doubt turned red, remembering he was sitting in his bed with nothing but his black boxers on. His hair was probably a mess, headphone wires tangled on his arm.

The boy wobbled before taking a few steps closer. “Sorry, I thought- I thought this was…” He used the wall to hold himself up, grabbing his head and closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I thought this was my room.” Keith shifted away when he plopped on his back near the edge of the bed. He had to pull his legs up and cross them so they wouldn’t be crushed. When the boys breath became deep, Keith leaned over in astonishment. He really did fall asleep in a stranger's room. Keith froze when his eyes opened, and tilted his head when they locked with each other. “I didn’t realize I stumbled upon someone so dashing,” he said with a wink. 

Keith was against his bed when the boy sat up. “W-what?!” His entire body became flaming in embarrassment. 

“M’names Lance,” the boy mumbled. He began to scoot toward Keith, a sly grin plastered wide. “What’s your name?” 

He wasn’t sure if it was because he was still half asleep or that he was completely enraptured by this person, but he hesitantly went along. 

“Um, Keith.” Lance reached out his hand. Keith eyed him warily before shaking it sturdily. When he tried to pull away, the grip tightened. He was being pulled slowly, the boy glancing between his eyes and lips. “Ah, maybe you should let go.” Lance shook his head, his smile amused. 

“Come on, you’re too pretty. Just a little smoochy smooch before bed.” Now he was leaning in. 

Keith roughly pulled his hand away. When he tried to back away he remembered he was already against the headboard. He placed his hands on Lances chest to keep him at arm's length. 

“You’re drunk. And a stranger.” Lance pouted at that. “What’s your room number? I’ll take you there.” 

The blue eyes lit up, as if he hadn’t just been rejected. “What a, a gentleman!” He put his hand out as if asking a lady to dance. Keith have him a suspicious look. “Hey!” Lance said. “I'm not going to try and kiss you again. Promise.” He placed his hand on his heart for a moment, then brought it out again for Keith to hold. 

“Let me put on a shirt,” Keith said. He quickly stood and maneuvered around Lances feet toward his dresser. He slipped on a black t-shirt. When he turned back Lance’s hand was still held out, watching him patiently. Keith gave in and took his hand, helping him stand. Lance pursed his lips when he stood barely an inch taller, obvious satisfaction in his eyes. “So, what room number are you in?” He pulled him to the door. 

“234.” Keith stopped. 

“That’s one floor below us… mines 334.” 

Lance rested one hand on his chin. “You know, that makes a looooot more sense now. Hey, I hear your feet sometimes!” Keith sighed and started back to the door. 

He opened it, letting the music swing into the room. The lyrics cleared, a popular hip hop song that’s played way too much. He was only out a step before he bumped into someone standing behind the door. 

“Sorry,” Keith said. The girl in front of the person he bumped had her mouth on the other's neck. He rolled his eyes. 

Then she looked up. Her eyes were vacant, and long deep grovely breaths came out like an ill animal. Her mouth was covered in a dark thick substance, dripping from the gaping hole on the man's neck, revealing when he turned and fell onto the floor in a loud thud.

Keith stepped back, bumping into Lance. Not a second later Lance was looking at it too. 

“What the hell?!” Lance shouted as he squeezed Keith's hand. 

Another thick roll of breathing came from behind them. When they turned around, Keith thought he was stuck in a nightmare. Bodies littered the floor with crowds of people over them, teeth ripping into their skin. 

They were only there for a moment, staring at the scene until Keith tugged Lance back into his room. He shut the door and locked it. His breath became uneven, stretching like weak threads pulled with relentless boulders. 

Lance let go of his hand and ran to the bathroom. He half shut the door before the sound of vomiting erupted from the toilet. Keith held in his own set of puke. Lance was probably affected by the alcohol just as much as the gory hallway. His thoughts paused. A pit of fear blinded his every nerve. There’s one thing he forgot. 

Pidge.

He dashed to his bed and reached for his charging phone. His lock screen was filled with text messages and missed calls. 

She was trying to get ahold of him. He couldn’t hear his phone from the damned headphones. He told her he would be there for her when she needed him. He let her feel safe with an empty promise. He would never forgive himself if she got hurt. He scrolled through the messages until he got to the end.

‘I’m in the janitors closet. First floor. Please Keith, wake up.’ 

It was decided. He would do whatever it took to save her, an overwhelming sense of responsibility washing over him. He had to do it. 

The toilet flushed, and in a few moments Lance came in the doorway. His skin was paled, eyes slightly more sober. Shock probably cleared his head a little. 

He shared a look of knowing with him before the boy spoke. 

“There’s someone I need to make sure is safe.” Though his voice made it obvious he was still drunk, there was an underline of certainty. 

Keith nodded. “Me too. We have to be careful, though.” Lance didn’t respond, and watched him for a few moments. 

“I have your back if you have mine.” 

Even though he knew from the tilt in his step and scent of vodka from his mouth that he was gone beyond repair, a sense of security hugged him.

“You got it,” he said with a smile. 

They tried calling the police multiple times, but the line was always busy. Lance could barely function, so it was his job to keep trying. Keith was grateful Lance got out of his flirtatious mood. He could focus on trying to find some sort of weapon or shield without that distraction. 

But there was the fact that he had no idea what the hell was even happening. He didn’t want to actually harm anyone. But, from the look of it they had every intention to harm them. 

So he changed into pants and pulled on a hoodie. He put on the only pair of gloves he owned, ending above his knuckles. He grabbed a pocket knife and placed it in his back pocket, then searched through every drawer, but couldn’t find anything useful. 

“Jesus, fucking christ!” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Why don’t I own anything for this situation?!” 

Lance stood and handed Keith his phone. “M’room.” 

“What?”

“My room. I have stuff.” Keith thought about his proposal. He was only a floor below. And they lacked weapons to defend themselves. 

“Alright. I guess now is as good as ever.” He looked at his phone. Now, as in four in the morning. 

They spent a few minutes mentally preparing and giving one more sweep of the room. He decided that they probably wouldn’t be coming back to the dorm anytime soon, if they even made it out. So he put his camera in its case with an extra battery pack, and let Lance hold onto the tripod. He put on his backpack after stuffing it with a few shirts and necessities. With a crime like that, there was no way the police would let them back into their dorms to get their things. Not for a long time, at least. 

They slowly opened the door. Keith popped his head out, the dance music now more eery than annoying. Like he somehow expected it to change with the mood of the room, instead of repeating the same cheery lyrics. 

There was less movement. More of them stood, as if finished with the people they were once devouring. 

They slowly inched out, looking around before cautiously shutting the door. 

“Keith,” Lance whispered, reaching for his shoulder. “I’m so fucking drunk right now. Can we hold hands again?” He wasn’t going to argue. He needed the comfort as well. He reached for his hand and took it without a word, leading him down the hall. 

Nobody seemed to notice them. As much as that was amazing, he couldn’t stop shaking. The walls were plastered with what looked like blood. He didn’t want to admit it yet. They stepped over limp bodies covered with bites and tears. Keith was again holding in his vomit. 

A deafening shriek came from Lances sneakers. His weight pulled Keith with him, using his hand to land softly on the floor, as softly as you can when impaired.

Lance looked at him with wide terrified eyes. He slipped and landed in a puddle of blood. Keith's other hand landed in the warm liquid next to Lance, the scent of metal strong. 

A guttural breath turned their heads. Everywhere they looked, the undead stared in their direction. 

“Shit!” Lance cursed, Keith pulling him up with his bloodied hand. 

Lance flapped his arms in a motion to throw away the warm substance, only flecks spinning off. The people groaned around him, their legs limping faster with each step as realization hit. They were their prey, caught in the middle of a bloodbath. Among nothing living, they were like a flashing light in a pitch black room, or an alarm blaring early in the morning. 

“Run!” Keith shouted, pushing into a sprint. Lances grip was in his once more, running hand in hand toward the flight of stairs. A student took hold of Keiths shoulder and tugged him to a stop. He grunted as Lance bumped hard into his back, barely releasing the grip of the man as they tumbled through.

He felt Lance push him further, using the tripod to block the others around them. 

They reached the stairs. A girl running up halted them. The boys exchanged glances before Lance used the tip of the tripod to slam it into her chest. She flew down. Hitting the steps as she rolled backward, head hitting the wall. The crack was deafening, her neck bent all the way forward as her limbs twitched. 

“Keith, did I just kill her?” his voice wobbled, on the edge of a tall cliff. So close to toppling over himself, as he held tightly to the tripod. Keith didn’t have time to answer. He swung around, kicking one in the stomach- almost causing a domino effect behind it. 

“This isn’t the time!” He grabbed Lances arm as he turned back around, forcing him down the first few steps. They jumped over every other step, stomping down with slippery shoes. It squeaked and slid, and as they turned the corner from the girl they watched her stand, her head stuck forward as she tried to run back at them. “Didn’t kill her,” he said, panting dividing his sentence. “Didn't kill her, why the hell didn’t that kill her?” 

A glass door dividing a small section of stairs came into view. They barely slowed enough to swing the door open and lock it behind them. It left them a second to watch as the pile of undead ran, toppling over one another. They backed away when the first wave slammed into the door, already beginning to crack. 

The music was numb in the small section of stairs, but only a momentary haven: each moment the door growing weaker. Keith took Lances hand once more, pulling him down the flight. Their breath filled the empty space. He almost felt like praying to thank God that he gave them that small section of safety. 

They reached the next door, level two. They would retrieve more from Lances dorm, then go find Pidge. He grit his teeth at the thought of making her wait any longer. 

“Lance, the other side looks quiet.” Not literally quiet, the music is still blaring. But the people just stood, wavering or walking with slow, unmethodical steps. Lance nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. 

“I’ll be quiet this time.” That was all Keith needed to reach for the handle. 

The shatter from the flight above indicated the short time they had to keep the silent charade. Keith walked out first, steps small and careful as he guided Lance behind him. Shut and lock. They would have to break through the next door, but that would still alarm the group down here. They only had seconds. 

His pulse bounced like a rubber ball thrown by a gorilla. His right hand rested over the blade in his back pocket, only giving him slight comfort. He was grateful, for once, for the insanely loud music and strobe lights. It blurred the surroundings and gave them an image of ambiguity. They looked like the others, probably smelt like them too from falling into puddles and being grabbed and pushed. 

He could breathe again when Lances room came into sight. The gleam of his keys made Keith close his eyes. Even with his level of drunkness, at least he was able to keep them with him. Keith took them from him after the second attempt at sticking it in the lock. 

Hammering. 

Their heads whipped to the beating on the door blocking the stairs. Now, they had to get in now before they got to them. Then his own fingers began to fumble. He let out a disgruntled sigh before finally achieving the task, pushing open the door aggressively. 

Slam and lock. And lock. And lock.

Shattering. 

They broke through. And though they were safe within the confinements of the room, they could still hear the stomping from every direction. The growls and groans from directly outside the doors. 

Lance gave him a small squeeze on his shoulder and walked to his bed. A small gesture to remind him to stay calm. He tried, really, but not yet. Not until Pidge. 

He watched Lance walk into the bathroom after looking over his shelves, echoes of bottles and miscellaneous items being moved around. Hectic and fast. He grunted a few times before finally coming out with a bag of his own things, and a lighter and large bottle of hairspray. 

“You have to be kidding me,” Keith said.

“Nope. This baby is gonna back those zombies off.” 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Zombies?” 

“Hell yeah, Keith. Zombies.”

“Okay sure, for now we could go with that. But don’t you have to…” he bit his lip. “Smash their head on something to kill them?” Lances eyes looked heavy. He lowered his makeshift weapon and rubbed his forehead. 

“I don’t know if I want to do that,” he admitted. “Like, in the back of my mind I know it’s the only way to get out of here, but I don’t think I’ll be able to really do it. Not unless we have to.” Keith nodded. 

He wasn’t sure what to say or do, tapping fingers on his black jeans. He turned in hope to find some sort of solution, maybe an answer to Lances uncertainty. Also for himself. 

The events replayed. The man in the field, eyes hungry for nothing humane, but at the same time exactly that. The girl tearing into another students neck, dropping him with no recognition of remorse. The groups of them digging into the same person, scattered around the halls. The girl falling, falling down the stairs and in result snapping her neck forward. He was certain that had killed her. But she stood like nothing had even scraped her. 

He glanced at the window and closed his eyes. His old home was lit by the deathly waves of the sun, his air conditioner busting mid day. The heat travelled inside, crawled into his every pore. He tried restlessly to fix the damned problem, but there was no achievement with his poor mechanic skills. Though living there his whole life did give him the skill of improvising broken things. So maybe he was moderately good, just not by normal means. 

His wrench slammed against the white box, a small dent in place as he removed it. His muscles screamed as sweat dripped, weeping for any kind of cold. He threw it right out his open window and landed on the dry sand, but not before bouncing off the porches railing. 

Some people say memory works like photos. Or a film. It plays in pieces when you need them, and if you search hard enough, even when you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’ll find what you need. 

Maybe that was why he loved photography in the first place. It really was an insight to who he was. It helped him keep everything in, kept him at ease and prevented it from jumbling up. 

He opened his eyes, back in the college dorm. He ran through what he remembered. 

He threw it right out his window. He threw it right out his window and found Pidge. 

He turned. “Lance!” The intensity of his voice caused him to start. “We have to go through the window!” 

His blue eyes lit up, lips turning upward. He began to nod, then squint, mouth dragging down slowly as his head shook side by side.

“We’re on the second floor,” he said. “If we do that I’m going to for real die this time.” 

Keith hummed. He paced, observing the small room. The only obvious solution was the bed sheets. He didn’t care if it was cliche. He tore the blankets from the mattress, tying them in secure knots. Lance watched him, worry draped over his features. 

Keith ignored him as Lance started to go through his drawers. He focused on the length of the sheets and opened the window. No one’s outside, the black sky interrupted by the pulsing glow of the windows below. The air let in another source of the too loud music, and a soft cool breeze. 

“Got it!” Lance said. Keith spun to see why he was so excited. 

He held a comic book, the cover of a green person with blood dripping through the mouth as it’s face contorts with anger. 

“A zombie comic? Really?” Lance gave him a sheepish closed mouthed smile. 

“I like at least some information about what we have to face.” 

Well, sure. But in this situation, maybe a comic would be as much help as going up to one and asking. 

“Whatever,” he waved him to the window. “You think this is safe enough?” Lance wandered over, head out to tug the sheets. 

“Not at all,” he brought his wheeling chair and took a step, one leg fully on the other side of the window. “But I don’t feel like dying yet. Not from zombies.” He motioned for Keith to pass the tripod. After resting it under his arm and looping it through his belt holes, he eased himself down the white blankets. 

Keith was… almost impressed. Lance somehow looked badass with a zombie comic in the back of one jean pocket and a can of hairspray with a lighter in the other. He watched as he focused on the task at hand. 

As Keith's hands rested on the soft material, he felt a tug. Lances eyes were wide, the makeshift rope dangling side to side as his grip tightened tremendously. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith whisper-yelled. Lance only shook his head and held his terrified expression, continuing to inch down. 

He tapped the window sill. His bones ached from the lack of movement, his adrenaline urging him to move. He decided it was his turn. 

The warm air graced him as he swung over, fingers aching from his strong grip. Slowly, he let himself down. The further he went, the more he wanted to go back. It was safe enough in the room. Outside was empty, but for how long? Maybe he missed someone. Maybe once he got down one of them would attack and they wouldn’t be ready. 

Slowly he forced himself to move. Grip, drag. Grip, drag. Readjust and once again all over, and again and again and once more until his eyes met with dead ones. They stared at him through a window, the only divider the thin slate of glass. 

Now he knew why Lance freaked. The room was dark, pitch black. The only reason he could see the eyes was from the pressed face, skin pushed back forcefully as it licked blood from the window. 

Tearing his eyes away felt like the hardest thing he’d done. He forced his quivering body to keep going. Feet plopped on the ground and Lance let out a grateful sigh. His voice became a whisper. 

“Take your time. The drop is kind of high… so we don’t want you to slip before you reach it. Lower yourself and… I’ll try to help you down.” He spoke so slow Keith almost wanted to drop on him then and there, but he knew it was because of how drunk he was. He needed to enunciate every letter so it came out right. 

Keith did what he was told. He thought Lance might yell at him to hurry, he was going so slow, but he kept quiet. Stayed patient until Keith lost the edge of the blanket with his foot. He squeezed tighter. 

“Keith,” Lance whispered. “Lower yourself and I’ll grab your feet.” 

“You made it down just fine, why wouldn’t I?” he asked. 

“I’m taller.”

“By an inch.” 

Lance let out an exasperated breath, though somehow still quiet. “Keith, just do it!” 

He began to lower himself. They shouldn’t waste more time. His muscles shook as he used whatever muscle he had to let his arms straighten. As he dangled, he felt Lances hand touch the bottom, then miss and grab in unbalanced movements. “Any way you could go anymore?” 

“Um,” his finger slid a fraction. His palms touched the bottom. Maybe a smidge more. 

He held nothing, wind clawing his hair as he slipped from the sheets. Lance caught his waist, a pained grunt releasing as he teetered backward. 

It took every cell not to yell as they tumbled over. He was on Lances upper half, both groaning and reaching for their heads. 

“Fuck,” Lance cursed, rolling to his side after Keith pushed himself off. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah… you?” His head ached, but at least they weren’t being eaten by… zombies. 

“Who, Lancy Lance? Of course,” he replied with a smooth finger gun. Keith forced himself not to roll his eyes. 

He’s drunk. He reminded himself. Don’t get annoyed. 

After standing up and stretching, they crept toward the entrance. His ears felt clogged, their haggard breaths even hard to hear. The grass met cement, lit from the lights inside. Dull music reached them once again. They observed the dark lighting through the glass doors, about twenty of them in sight. 

Lance rested his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Do you think if we’re quiet we can get past?” Keith wanted to say yes, but the risk was too large to assume everything would go right.

“We almost could before the first time because of the music. It was only when you slipped and fell when they noticed us.” 

“Because of the noise, right?” Keith nodded in thought. 

“Exactly. Maybe if we get in quietly and sneak through. We won’t cause a problem?” It sounded too ideal when he said it out loud. 

“Like Shaun of the Dead,” Lance said.

“Like what?”

“Shaun of the Dead,” he repeated. “It’s a great zombie parody, maaaan it’s hilarious.” Keith looked at him, eyes impatient.

“Okay, but what do you mean it’s like it?” Lance made an O with his mouth like he had forgotten what they were talking about. 

“Riiiiight! Well, in the movie they have to pass through a-” he used his arms to express the size, lengthening them to their full long extent. “Huge crowd of zombies, and the only reason they made it out unnoticed was because they wore a bunch of zombie guts on themselves and walked with the typical “zombie walk”.”

“I’m not doing a zombie walk.”

“Alright, I mean if you want to get eaten that’s on you.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the amount of…” His throat felt clogged, every muscle forcing himself to say it. “Blood, we have on us, we should be fine with our scents.”

“Yup. I mean, I practically had a bath. It’s still warm.” He started with an expressive and excited tone, but by the end of his sentence it became dark and almost sad. 

Keith took a step back and observed the stains on Lance once more. The muddy red continued to drip, starting mid back and ending with patches near his calves. If it were him, he certainly would have freaked out. Still would be freaking out. It wasn’t his blood. It was someone else’s. They’ll never know who’s it was, either. It’ll forever be a mystery to who stained his grey and blue baseball shirt, blue jeans, and the soles of both of their shoes. 

It took him a moment to find his voice again. “You ready?” 

They locked eyes. Lance smiled, eyes hesitant. His smile was forced, but it still helped give Keith enough courage to take a step. And another. And another. 

Lances hand found his, intertwining their fingers and putting the slightest amount of weight as he began to limp with his left leg. Keith didn’t question it. ‘Zombie walk’ was repeated in his head with Lances' voice. One person doing it was enough. 

The glass was clear apart from random splatters, and a body leaning against it. Inside they roamed with no real destination. 

Lance cautiously opened the door. They let themselves in. They walked. 

Slow and mindful of every wandering eye, he could hear them breathe. Barely over the music, but enough to send chills over every forming goosebump. p

Keith glanced at the stairs. When he saw the door was closed, he thought he could let out a sigh of relief, the angry herd upstairs stuck. But he didn’t. They could break through again. Cause the ones in here to attack. 

Lance nudged him, tugging lightly and turning in another direction. The janitors closet. 

Go, go, go! 

They weren’t going to make it. He swore they looked at them curiously. With suspicion. They could smell them, he knew it. Imposters. Prey. Food. 

They made it to the closet and Lance turned the handle. Opened the door. 

His heart bounced. Pidge. He would see her, save her at last. Pidge. 

She wasn’t there. It’s empty. So, so empty. Stacks of cleaning supplies scattered intentionally. But no Pidge. 

He began to shake his head. No, no, no, no, no. 

“Pi-” Lances hand was on his mouth, the other squeezing his own through their grip. He leaned, breath warm against his ear. 

“There’s another one down the hall. Stay calm.” His voice was so low and quiet Keith wondered how he even heard it. He didn’t need to reply before they headed to the other closet. Just as slow. 

When it came in sight, the small metal plate ‘Janitors Closet’, his mind went back to his small shack. 

He ran around his house, heart pumping out of his chest. He looked everywhere. Every room, under every table and bed. Outside he ran without his shoes, bare feet over the burning sand. 

He checked under the porch, behind the house, and looped the perimeter. He called her name over and over until he caught sight of small footprints. He followed them, running static. In a few minutes he found a large tree, and poofy copper hair peeking from behind it. 

She was sleeping, her laptop sitting on her thighs. She was great at disappearing. Usually found herself in places she didn’t realize she was headed. 

When she stayed with him for reading week, it was a little frightening when he woke early in the morning to an empty house. He would always lose her, and always continue to find her. No matter what he would search. 

They walked down the hall, hands gripped tight until they reached the door. The handle was broken, but with enough of a wiggle they could manage it.

He would always find her. So he did.

Her hands were gripped on a shovel- ready for attack as her eye widened, tears threatened to pour. 

She jumped and let out quiet sobs into his neck, having to bend for her to reach. She nearly strangled him before he heard Lance yell in surprise. 

“Hunk?!” And he was in the closet bear hugging a taller man. Lance was almost completely engulfed by his size. 

He would have started to cry from all of the runions, if not for the heads now turned in their direction.


End file.
